


Puff Piece

by wandering_gypsy_feet



Series: Puppies and Babies and Kastle [1]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Big Dogs, Chaos Ensues, Dogs, F/M, So Many Dogs, all good dogs tho, fluff fluff fluff, frank castle rescues all the dogs, frank is being frank, it literally has puff in the title so, karen is doing her best to keep everyone alive, kastle - Freeform, little dogs, so sweet your teeth will rot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 02:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14607657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet
Summary: When a heatwave sweeps through New York, Karen Page is just focused on keeping cool. Until someone reports that a man has been rescuing dogs from hot cars and threatening irresponsible pet owners who would endanger their animals.Karen has a good idea who.Based on a comic I saw on Tumblr that somehow turned into a Frank Castle style PSA to not leaving your pets in hot cars. Very slight Kastle.





	Puff Piece

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so remember when I said I was working on longer Kastle fics? This... came out of nowhere and was done in a day. So! Here it is. Not overtly Kastle, but the implications are there. Mostly just some fluffy, puppy goodness. 
> 
> Reviews are cherished!

“You’re never going to guess the puff piece I got for the summer special,” Monica complains, coming to sit beside Karen in the breakroom.

 

“What?” Karen pulls her hair up off her neck as she waits for her microwavable meal to finish sizzling and popping in the microwave like a Civil War battle. The heat is just starting to near brutal; there’s been a streak of days here in May that promise this summer is going to be scorching.

 

“Summer safety for humans and pets,” Monica pouts, arms crossed. She’d started at the Bulletin only a few months ago, but Karen likes her well enough. Besides, it’s nice to have someone else who eats lunch at their desk and offers to split late night takeout.

 

“That doesn’t sound bad,” Karen replies, opening the door when the microwave beeps insistently.

 

“Not too bad?” Monica looks incredulous. “I have to remind dumbass peoples to drink water, put sunscreen on their kids, don’t walk their dogs on black pavement, no swimming in the Hudson, what else?”

 

“Don’t forget your kids in hot cars,” Karen suggests and Monica groans, throwing her leftover Chinese carton into the microwave as Karen carries her meal to the rickety table in the corner.

 

“Seriously, morons. We’re on a planet filled with morons.”

 

“It’s just one special,” Karen reminds her, peeling the film off her meal and sighing at the mess within. Chicken tetrazzini, her ass. “Then it’s summer and crime goes nuts again. You’ll have plenty to write about.”

 

“First, though, more on how to not kill yourself or those you love by locking yourself in a freezer to try to cool down. Back to you Karen,” Monica states, with mock enthusiasm and Karen rolls her eyes.

 

“It’s a puff piece. It’ll take you like twenty minutes to write, tops,” Karen tries to cheer her up. Monica sighs, leaning against the counter.

 

“It’s just that when I got this job, I thought I would be writing the hard hitters. Exposing crime and cruelty. Fighting for the little guys. Interviewing superheroes and stuff,” she explains and Karen takes a bite of the limp pasta to stop herself from saying anything. Thankfully the topic moves onto when Karen is going to take a vacation (never) and when they’re going to have their wine and pizza night (Tuesday). When they’re done with lunch and go back to work, Karen hardly thinks anything more of puff pieces.

 

On Tuesday, Karen settles in with her large glass of red wine and her remote. She’s already got their large veggie pizza on the way, and she’s just trying to decide what movie they should watch when her phone goes off. She glances at it and when she sees the picture of Monica on the caller id, answers.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Karen, shit, I am so sorry,” Monica sounds half frantic.

 

“What’s wrong?” Karen sits straight up, concerned. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Monica says hastily. “Just at work still. Might need to postpone our date a little.”

 

“Oh, that’s fine,” Karen sits back in relief. “I thought you were being kidnapped or something.”

 

“No, just being held hostage by the puff piece,” Monica jokes and Karen frowns slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

 

“Yeah, sounds good,” Karen replies, hanging up slowly.

 

It seems odd to her that Monica would be working so late on a puff piece of all things. Karen tries to shake it off, to let it go and just be grateful that she’ll have cold pizza for lunch tomorrow, but something nags at the back of her mind all night. She does her best to ignore it, to forget about it, but when she finally climbs into bed, it’s still there, uncomfortable. She tosses and turns all night, unable to get comfy with the heat seeping in, and when she rises in the morning, she’s not well rested.

 

She gets herself a large coffee on the way and drops her change in the cup next to a man asleep on the streets. She always does, especially after her encounter with Frank. Even though he has a key to her apartment now and a cell phone to call her on besides, she half thinks that he’ll appear from under the rags and blankets. If that makes her still all heart, she’ll live with it. When she gets to the office, she’s surprised to see that Monica is out. When she asks around, she gets shrugs and mutters about her being on a story. Karen ignores her uneasiness, going to her desk.

 

Work and a new story mostly forces Monica from her mind over the next couple days. Karen is chasing down leads, busy with her own little world. It isn’t until Saturday comes around and she is walking into the office to do a little early morning work that it all comes rushing back. Monica is on her phone, practically yelling. Karen throws her stuff down on an unoccupied desk, rushing for her.

 

“And that’s why it’s so important!” Monica is waving her hands and the second Karen is within her sight, she grins and beckons her over. “Okay, okay, well work on it and call me back.”

 

“What the hell was that?” Karen asks, staring as Monica hangs the phone up.

 

“I have a lead,” she says, bouncing in her seat and Karen arches an eyebrow.

 

“A lead. For what?”

 

“Superhero,” Monica reveals and Karen’s heart sinks, just a little. She knows so many of them now, and so well. She’s skirted the issue ever since she started here, but now she knows more. How can she walk the line between what’s right and what’s the truth?

 

“I thought you were busy with, uh, that puff piece,” Karen reminds her carefully, trying to sound glib.

 

“This is that,” Monica declares, her smile so wide it might split her face. Karen can only stare at her, utterly confused.

 

“What the — How?”

 

“Okay, so get this,” Monica leans forward, like she needs to keep this a secret from the walls and empty chairs. “I was researching about all the summer safety stuff and how you shouldn’t leave your kid in the car, right?”

 

“Right,” Karen says slowly, unsure of where this is going to be headed.

 

“Well, there’s this thing, it happens to dogs even more often,” she explains. “They get left in cars and stuff and it gets too hot and then they die. It’s like super cruel and way more dogs die than kids. So, I thought I would do a whole piece on it, you know, animal rights and all that stuff.”

 

“Right,” Karen nods along, still clueless how this will end up with superheroes.

 

“And you know how we’ve been having this heat wave?”

 

“Yes,” Karen replies wryly, thinking of how she’d had to take a cold shower after her run just to feel like she wasn’t going to spontaneously combust.

 

“And it’s already started, the whole dogs in cars things. Except this year, someone is stopping it,” Monica reveals dramatically and Karen sighs.

 

“Okay, so someone is doing what, arresting people for leaving dogs in cars?” She rolls her eyes, about to go into her own office and ridicule herself for ever asking.

 

“Not arresting,” Monica states. “He shatters the windows, and if he decides the dog’s in bad enough shape, he takes it. Otherwise he leaves a note.”

 

“A note?” Karen scoffs, as Monica reaches for a crumpled piece of paper. “Who does this guy think he is, the….”

 

She stops dead when she sees the handwriting. She knows the handwriting. She knows the little rim of coffee stain on the corner, knows the harsh black strokes of the pen, knows the big angry hand that wrote it.

 

**Next time it’s you in the oven, asshole.**

 

_God damnit, Frank._

 

“And so far, it’s been seven dogs, mostly in Hells Kitchen but a couple in other places, and I think that he—” Monica is rambling, but Karen only pays her half attention, staring at the note. Of course, it’s Frank. She doesn’t know why she didn’t think it wasn’t him the second that Monica told her that someone is saving dogs from hot cars in the city. That’s him. That’s so him.

 

“Wait,” she looks up at Monica. “How many dogs did you say it was?”

 

“He’s saved like 20 or so,” Monica tells her. “But he’s taken at least seven dogs, based on the reports I’ve found. Do you think that it’s a story?”

 

“It’s still a puff piece,” Karen tries to sound offhand, like she is not fuming and ready to run out of the office this very instant. “It’s not like whoever this is would be the next Captain America.”

 

“Rescuing dogs?” Monica raises an eyebrow. “Seems like a pretty Captain America type thing to me.”

 

_Oh, would he hate to be compared to Cap._

 

“Well, with that hard-hitting investigative journalism taking over the front page, I don’t even know why I came in,” Karen jokes, going back to where she’d tossed her computer and purse and such.

 

“What are you writing?” Monica asks with interest and Karen gives her a faux bright smile.

 

“Just going through the blotter,” she shrugs. “I’ll see if anything pops up.”

 

“Well have fun, I’m going to see if I can figure out who’s doing this before the heat dies down next week,” Monica informs her.

 

“Ever think it might be multiple people?” Karen suggests, hovering in her doorway. “Might not be one person. They’re spread out, right?”

 

“Yeah, but most happen in the same area. And the note. I dunno, just got a gut feeling,” Monica muses and Karen nods, keeping her mouth. She locks herself in her office and puts her head in her hands for a moment.

 

_Seven dogs. Seven. Seven fucking dogs._

 

She wants to reach for her phone and call Frank, but she doesn’t dare with Monica just outside. Her office is decently sound proof, but she’s not going to tempt fate. Frank is just getting settled back into life. At least he’s no longer mowing down cartels and the mob. Small victories, she thinks. Despite wanting nothing more than to leave everything behind and rush towards a small apartment not that many blocks away from her own, she doesn’t. Leaving now would bring strange questions from Monica, so she forces herself to sit and stare at her drafts.

 

She’ll finish one, make up an excuse, and be on her way. Simple.

 

To her surprise, she allows herself to get engrossed in the story, trying to sort out details and more. The hours slide by, until Monica knocks on her door. Karen rises, stretching, before going to open it up. Monica holds up a pizza with a hopeful smile on her face, cracking it open to show the veggie pizza within.

 

“What’s this?” Karen asks wryly.

 

“I was a jerk and bailed on wine and pizza night,” Monica admits, a little sheepishly. “Forgive me?”

 

“Yeah, you’re forgiven,” Karen relents, smiling. “Where’s the wine?”

 

“I’m sure there’s beer in the fridge,” Monica bargains, as Karen goes to get paper plates.

 

After she’s gotten some actual work done, Karen bodes Monica goodbye and heads out of the office. The second she steps outside, sweat beads on her forehead. It’s the sort of day where not even a breeze can do enough to lift the oppressive heat. It encroaches, from all sides, until just moving through it is a herculean struggle. Karen goes home, desperate to have on as few layers of clothes as possible. She changes into shorts and a tank top, braiding her hair back loosely.

 

She uses the phone she keeps tucked behind her headboard, the one that only has two numbers in it. She texts the second, just a short message. Two letters and a question mark. The man on the other end will know what it means. By the time she’s done straightening up her apartment, she has a response back. It’s an address, not far from her apartment. She puts the phone away and cringes, but heads back into the heat.

 

She gets takeout from the sushi place. She can’t imagine eating anything warm right now, so she gets that and then heads towards the address she’d been sent. She and David don’t see each other much in person, but Karen knows that he always knows where Frank is, and she’s grateful that he watches out for her and Frank alike. There’s a little park near the address, so Karen finds a bench and sits, putting the other platter of sushi across from her and waiting.

 

Takeout is their thing. She’s not sure when it started; maybe the night Frank showed up at her office late at night with a bag of pasta and a sheepish smile. It is a signal that nothing is wrong. Too often they seek each other out when there’s some grave danger looming, but takeout means it’s alright. It means it’s a social visit. So, Karen eats her California roll with her chopsticks, waiting.

 

It takes a few minutes, but eventually Frank slinks into view. Karen stares at him in surprise. Even though the sun is sinking down, ever so slowly, the temperature doesn’t seem to be waning. Sweat is already sliding down the curve of Karen’s spine, but Frank seems unbothered. He’s wearing his black hoodie and jeans, with his boots. He sits and tugs the hoodie down, and his only concession to the heat is that his hair is buzzed shorter than she’s seen it, and no trace of a beard lingers.

 

He sits across from her without a word, picking up the sushi. He likes the weird rolls, Karen’s found out, so she always gets him something with eel or exotic fish on it. Karen watches him with a sort of exasperated amusement before she gets up and heads towards the other end of the street. There sits a hot dog stand; the man behind it busy with other customers. Karen snags a few bottles of water from it, slipping a couple bucks on the counter. When she gets back to Frank and hands him the cool bottle, he at least grunts in acknowledgement.

 

“You’re going to get heatstroke,” Karen declares, once they’re both nearly done. Frank makes a noise that sounds like a scoff, but takes another bite before he responds.

 

“I was inside.”

 

“Were you?” Karen turns to him, and her blue eyes meet his dark ones. There’s always something so intense between the two of them that Karen can never understand. Frank says so little aloud, but so much with his gaze. Karen just doesn’t know how to interpret it, how to translate what he means.

 

“What do you need, Kar?” He asks then, putting some ginger in the soy sauce and taking a bite.

 

“I wanted to see what you were up to,” Karen admits, rather evasively. Frank shrugs.

 

“Construction. Group. Stuff.”

 

“Stuff?” Karen presses and Frank raises his gaze, looking out at her from under her brow. It’s a look capable of knocking her off her feet on the best of days, and she wavers, but then she remembers Monica’s note and remains resolute.

 

“Stuff,” he replies, going back to his last piece of sushi.

 

“Pete stuff?” Karen swirls the wasabi in her soy sauce, avoiding looking at Frank. She’s not quite sure that if she meets his gaze now, she’ll have the strength to pull away. “Or the other kind of stuff?”

 

“Other,” Frank tells her through gritted teeth. “Why?”

 

“Because there’s been some chatter,” Karen says quietly, arranging her used chopsticks on the bench so that they form a ‘7’. “About a man.”

 

“If someone is on my tail, you have to tell me who,” he says lowly, darkly, dangerously. Karen remains quiet, watching as soy sauce seeps into the cracks on the bench. Then she looks up at him, at his eyes that can simmer like whiskey in a glass, sunshine and heat caught and captured there. It takes her breath away, every time, the sight of him. It’s like something in her chest aches, needs these moments that are never enough.

 

“Seven fucking dogs, Frank? Really?”

 

“How the fuck—” His head snaps down to the chopsticks then back up to her again and something shifts. The intensity leeches out, replaced with something a little more sheepish, something almost boyish. “How do you know about that?” He asks, rubbing the back of his head.

 

“Because someone at work thinks that it’s the same man going around the city and breaking into cars that have dogs trapped inside. She found a note,” Karen reveals and Frank looks out over the park, where tired parents sit in the shade and their hardy children race through the playground.

 

“How’d you figure it was me?” Frank watches as a little boy digs in a sandbox, unbothered by the heat.

 

“Because it sounds exactly like something you’d do just to keep yourself busy,” Karen scoffs. “Rescuing dogs and telling people you’ll do the same to them? Anyone that has spent more than twenty minutes with you would take a guess that it’s you.” Karen lets them sit in silence for a few long moments before she adds, “I know your handwriting too.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Frank has the decency to look a little bashful and it tugs at Karen’s heart, so she crosses her arms. “Those dogs were in serious trouble.”

 

“You’re going to be in serious trouble if you get found out,” Karen reminds him, but it’s without bite. She doesn’t mean it, not really. The city will just think it’s another vigilante, one of New York’s many, and there’s only a slim chance that they’d connect that to the man they feared and hated in equal measure not that long ago. Frank gives a grunt, and they’re both quiet for a bit, the heat swelling to fill the silence.

 

“It’s not seven, by the way,” Frank says finally, and Karen relaxes, just slightly.

 

“Thank _god_ , I thought that—”

 

“It’s nine,” he corrects and Karen’s jaw drops as she stares at him.

 

“Are you fucking—”

 

“Actually, I should get home to feed them,” Frank talks over her and Karen just covers her face with her hands. “Gonna come with me?”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she mutters, rising. Frank gathers up their trash and tosses it, before glancing back at her. Feeling regret all the way down to her toes, Karen follows him.

 

They don’t talk too much on the walk home; Karen is mostly caught up in wondering how the hell Frank is managing to keep cool even in the heat of the day with that sweatshirt and his jeans. She tries to guess what he’s been doing when he hasn’t been knocking down walls and taking care of nine dogs. She can’t help but shake her head at the idea of Frank with that many dogs. She wants to scold him, but it’s too hot for anger.

 

Frank’s apartment building is bordering on what Karen might delicately call ‘scary’. It’s a little dark and even more dingier, and the first time Karen had stepped inside it, she was confident she’d witnessed a drug deal. But Frank has assured her nothing went on in the building that he doesn't know about. Karen is certain if there was anything truly unsavory there, Frank would be sure to end it. Up the stairs they go, until they reach his floor. His door is at the end of the hallway, but even from here, Karen can hear the barking of the dogs. She gives him a look.

 

“Neighbors don’t mind,” he brushes it off and Karen sighs deeply as he pulls out his keys. “But you, uh, might wanna stand back?”

 

The second Frank unlocks and opens the door, Karen sees why. A massive dog bounds for him, leaping. The front paws reach his shoulders and on their hind legs, the dog stands as tall as Frank, who’s receiving the brunt of excited yips from dogs of various sizes. He pushes the Mastiff off him, edging far enough inside that Karen can scoot inside and close the door before any of Frank’s brood escape.

 

She looks around in astonishment. There’s the Mastiff who’d greeted Frank, practically vibrating in joy. There’s two pitbulls that are sitting on the sagging couch, woofing lowly. One is covered in bandages, but has a lolling tongue and happy, bright eyes. A tiny dog, with straggly hair, is bouncing around Karen’s ankles, making more noise than the rest combined. A skinny dog, golden fur dull and matted, keeps some ways back, hovering uncertainly. A black lab lays in the corner on a vent, head raised hopefully. A dog that’s aspiring to be a beagle ambles out of the kitchen, unbothered by the commotion. One dog with a grey snout and patches of baldness is trying to reach Frank, having to dodge the Mastiff. And around them all runs a dog with a face only a mother could love, with a snaggletooth and a nose that seemed to have met its doom going full speed at a wall.

 

All in all, nine dogs. Karen looks at Frank helplessly.

 

“What the hell, Frank?”

 

“You’re gonna wanna pick up Yankee before she piddles,” Frank advises and Karen looks down in a panic, before scooping up the little Yorkie that is trying to climb her legs. The dog is wagging her tail so hard that it thumps against Karen’s ribs. He moves past the dogs, towards the kitchen, telling her names as he goes. “The big boy is Romeo, and the little devil is Zulu. Don’t mind Sierra, she’ll come to you when she’s ready. Oscar, he’s got arthritis, but you can hardly tell, right? Echo never leaves that vent, he’s too hot with that black fur. Don’t trip over Victor, he’ll try to tangle you up. And sorry, but the couch is off limits. Kilo and Juliet only now.”  

 

“Did you name them after the NATO alphabet?” Karen asks him in disbelief and Frank chuckles, bringing out various dog bowls.

 

“I didn’t know what else to do. It just kind of happened,” he admits, setting the bowls down in various spots around the apartment. Karen is impressed to see that the dogs go to their respective dishes, waiting patiently. Frank opens the pantry, bringing out several buckets of food. Karen watches as he goes around, filling dishes with different kinds of food. Some get two scoops, some only a half. Karen sets Yankee down so she can run to her dish. Beside Romeo’s, it makes for a hilarious sort of contrast.

 

“Nine dogs, Frank. _Nine_ ,” Karen repeats. “What the hell were you thinking? Did you just steal every dog you set eyes on?”

 

“No,” Frank protests, looking affronted that she thought him an irresponsible dog stealer. “Karen, all of these dogs, I watched them. For hours. Zulu, over there?” He points to the would be pug, who is panting and scarfing down food. “I watched some chick lock her in a car. Came back twenty minutes later, dog’s about passed out in the back seat. Girl grabs something, locks the door again and disappears. I only take them when it’s clear their owners don’t give a damn. None of them have chips or tags, and half were malnourished, fleas, the whole fucking thing.”

 

“Okay, you did the right thing,” Karen puts her hands up against Frank’s anger and he subsides, slightly. “You did. But nine dogs Frank? Nine?”

 

“And Juliet’s pregnant,” he adds and Karen double takes, noticing that the Pitbull that isn’t wrapped up does happen to have a bulging belly. “Got her and Kilo from a dog fighting ring. He’s the fighter and the dad, I think.”

 

“Holy shit,” Karen rubs her temples.

 

“Know anyone that can take care of a dog?” Frank attempts to joke weakly and Karen glares. “Alright, don’t look at me like that. What was I going to do, leave them?”

 

“Shelters,” Karen reminds, her patience wearing thin. “Shelters exist.”

 

“Nah, half of these guys would be put down before they even made it there,” Frank waves a massive hand. “Oscar’s too old to ever get adopted again. Sierra’s abused, she’s gonna need a lot of rehabbing before she can go anywhere. Romeo needs a fuck ton of food, and—”

 

“Fine, fine, I get it. Sanctuaries then, for at least some,” Karen states. “You cannot keep nine dogs – **nine!** – in your apartment, plus puppies.”

 

“I know that,” Frank admits reluctantly. “That’s why I said if there’s anyone who needs….”

 

“A beer,” Karen orders, going to sit in the leather chair. “Please.”

 

“Yeah, got it,” Frank goes to the fridge, grabbing two. He hands Karen one for her, keeps the other, and sits down on the floor. As the dogs finish up eating, they all come to give him a lick or get pets. Some wander over to Karen, curious as to who this human is. Yankee jumps up onto her lap like this is natural, while Oscar sits on her feet.

 

“When you said you were keeping busy, getting hobbies, I imagined painting or sports or something. Not collecting dogs,” Karen admits, as Frank scratches Echo’s belly with one hand as the other checks Kilo’s bandages.

 

“Everybody’s got something,” he mutters. “How’d you find me anyways?”

 

“David,” Karen says, smiling despite herself as Victor went about, inspecting each food bowl to see if there are any scraps.

 

“Think he needs a dog?” Frank asks, and Karen gives a chuckle at that.

 

“Think you better ask Sarah,” she muses. She’d met David’s wife once, just the once, but there had been a sort of quiet strength behind the woman that spoke to Karen of a woman who was a formidable ally, and a worse enemy. “Frank, we have to find them homes.”

 

“Good homes,” he corrected. “Don’t wanna be getting them back or any of that shit.”

 

“Okay, good homes,” Karen allows. “How long can you afford to keep feeding them?”

 

“Long as I gotta,” Frank says resolutely and Karen lets them lapse back into silence. She’s just musing on how the hell she got here when all the sudden Frank’s eyes go wide. Karen straightens up, alarmed.

 

“What?” She demands, before something a little cool and wet gently nudges her hand. Karen turns and looks, gasping slightly when she sees the dog, Sierra, the golden mutt, is timidly trying to lift her hand.

 

“Easy, easy, easy,” Frank says needlessly, and Karen wants to tell him that she knows how to treat abused dogs, how to be soft and gentle and kind but instead she just slowly moves her hand so that it rests between Sierra’s ears, scratching lightly. Sierra trembles all over, but allows it.

 

“Good girl,” Karen whispers to her. “Good girl, hey, that’s a good girl. There’s my good girl.”

 

“Never seen her do that,” Frank admits, still surprised. “Usually she sticks to corners.”

 

“She’s a good girl, isn’t she?” Karen coos, until Sierra sits, leaning against the chair. Karen keeps a hand on her, while Yankee tries to lick Sierra’s ear. “Yeah, good girl.”

 

“Think you might have a dog, ma’am,” Frank teases, and Karen narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t deny him.

 

They sit and talk through the dogs well into the evening. Karen brings up places on her phone and Frank shakes his head and disapproves, then the process starts all over again. He won’t send the dogs to anyone who doesn’t deserve them, and nothing quite holds up to his standards, but Karen is resolute. The dogs cannot stay. Night has fallen, bringing with it coolness and some quiet. Karen’s eyelids are heavy, but finally, they seem to have a plan.

 

“I should get going,” Karen mutters, going to rise. Yankee, asleep on her knees, raises her head indignantly.

 

“Nah, it’s way too late,” Frank dismisses that with a shake of his head, rising. “You can stay here. Too many assholes out on the streets when it’s hot like this.”

 

“Speaking of, how did you not dehydrate yourself in that sweatshirt today?” Karen mumbles, tucking Yankee into her arms and standing. Most of the dogs wake up at their movement, watching with keen eyes.

 

“You ever ran when it’s 125 degrees out across sand with 40 pounds of gear on your back?” Frank questions and Karen blinks. Sometimes she forgets that Frank has a before that comes first. So often, she thinks his story begins at the death of his wife and children, and she forgets that he was first a solider and a Marine and that he carries that just as heavily as he does the tragedy of his family.

 

“I’ll take the couch,” she offers, instead of replying that to that and Frank raises an eyebrow. Kilo and Juliet are sleeping there, Kilo snoring slightly.

 

“Good luck moving them. C’mon, I got plenty of room in here, if you get to the bed before Romeo.”

 

“Oh,” Karen pauses, unsure. Granted, she’s slept in the same place as Frank before. They’ve fallen asleep together on the couch after she’s patched him up, but this is different. This is a bed. Frank seems not to mind, and neither do any of the dogs. Zulu is already between the two pillows there, wheezing loudly. Frank turns on a fan and sprawls out. Karen automatically blocks Romeo’s attempt to leap onto the bed and then sits. He huffs and goes to Frank’s side, curling up on the floor.

 

“If any of them bother you, let me know,” Frank mutters and Karen carefully reclines. Zulu separates their heads, and Yankee goes to tangle herself around Karen’s legs. Echo jumps into the bed and spins a few times before settling between them. Karen takes a deep breath.

 

“Goodnight Frank.”

 

“Night, Kar.”

 

She’s not sure if she sleeps fitfully because it’s too damn hot, or if it’s because she had several dogs twined around her making it impossible to get comfortable, or if it’s because she’s acutely aware of the distance between her and Frank Castle. She refuses to dwell on any of it and when the sun begins its hellish ascent to reign terror over them once again, Karen rises.

 

She pauses, smiling slightly. Frank is still fast asleep, curled on his side, Zulu pressed to the nape of his neck. Echo is between his legs, and Romeo is already up and about to climb into Karen’s spot. Yankee has hoped down to follow Karen, and Victor is whining to be on the bed too. Karen lifts him on his short legs, placing him near Frank’s feet.

 

“Alright, let’s go then,” Karen whispers to Yankee and they travel to the kitchen. Juliet raises her head from Kilo’s back where they’re sleeping on the couch, and Oscar snores on the dog bed by the window. Sierra hovers, but by the time Karen starts making coffee, she’s once again joined to Karen’s side. First comes coffee, then breakfast. Karen eats her bagel in the leather chair, Sierra at her feet and Yankee on her lap. Something about it feels right, and she wryly thinks that perhaps Frank is sneakier than she gives him credit for.

 

“You got coffee on?” Frank emerges from his bedroom with bleary eyes and no shirt, his pack trailing behind him. Karen smiles slightly.

 

“On the counter. You get ahold of David?”

 

“Guy sleeps less than me,” Frank mutters, pouring himself a cup. “He said he’ll be there if we are. Lucky Sarah’s got work, or he said he’d never pull this off.”

 

“I’m still not sure we can,” Karen reminds him and Frank snorts, drinking his coffee and going to Kilo, murmuring soothing words under his breath as he peels back bandages. By the time it gets to be mid-morning, they’ve gone through a pot of coffee and Frank is dragging his feet.

 

“I don’t think we have to go,” he tries to convince her, playing with the leash. “We could just—”

 

“Frank,” Karen says firmly. “It’s happened. Let’s go.”

 

“But,” Frank looks down at Echo, who is panting, looking between the two of them then up at Karen, who crosses her arms. “Fine.”

 

“It’ll be fine,” Karen says soothingly, as Frank clips the leash to Echo’s collar. “You like David, remember?”

 

“I like Leo and Zach,” Frank corrects and Karen sighs but lets him have the jab. They take Echo to the truck Frank has parked out back, and then once they’re loaded up, head out towards David and Sarah’s house. Frank takes them to the park nearby and Karen smiles to see that Leo and Zach seem to both be hitting their father out of excitement.

 

“Guys, enough,” David declares, when they pull to a stop.

 

“David,” Frank greets him and David gives him a nod.

 

“Hey Frank, Karen.”

 

“Hi guys,” Karen greets the kids with a smile and they both smile and wave, though their eyes are firmly affixed to the door Frank is opening. He catches Echo’s leash as the dog jumps down. Echo sniffs the air then heads, tail wagging, for the children. Zach instantly drops down to his knees, scratching him under the chin and Leo grins at her dad.

 

“Not a puppy,” David observes, with a note of relief.

 

“Nah, he’s a good dog,” Frank states, as Leo kneels when Echo comes to sniff her. “House trained, doesn’t bark much, good sleeper.”

 

“We’re keeping him,” Leo announces and David glances down at her.

 

“Says who?”

 

“Me, and when mom’s not here, I make the rules,” Leo declares and Frank looks away to hide his smile.

 

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” David admits and Karen smiles.

 

“Are you our dog?” Zach is asking Echo, smiling. “Yeah, you’re our dog. Our dog.”

 

“Why don’t you guys go take him for a walk?” Karen suggests. “Let him stretch his legs a little bit, go to the bathroom?”

 

“Sure!” Leo rises and takes the leash from Frank. “Does he need water? Will he get too hot?”

 

“No, sweetheart, he’s okay, just no running today, alright?” Frank tells them and both kids nod before they start walking. Echo stays between the two of them, tail wagging furiously.

 

“Don’t think I’ve seen Zach smile this much since, well....” David doesn’t finish his sentence, a sad little smile on his face. Coming home to his family, he’d confided to Karen, hasn’t been as easy as he’d anticipated. Karen knows he’s grateful, but she can’t imagine what Sarah and the kids have been through.

 

“Dogs are good for kids,” Frank states and Karen wonders, her heart breaking just a little further, if there was a Castle dog, before.

 

“Yeah, I remember the metaphor,” David mutters and for some reason, he and Frank both chuckle. Karen chooses not to ask, watching the kids and Echo.

 

“You ready for a dog?” Frank asks him and David nods, eyes on the kids as well.

 

“Yeah, we’re going after this to get everything he’ll need. Bed, toys, food, all that stuff. Leo has already picked it all out on her phone.”

 

“And Sarah?” Frank raises an eyebrow.

 

“She’ll throw a fit,” David grimaces for a second. “But she knows we need something. I said another kid and she about blew me through the door.”

 

“Dog’ll do,” Karen remarks and they all fall silent. By the time Echo leads the kids back, it’s as if they have always been together. Echo looks happier than he’s ever been and the kids are both grinning ear to ear in delight.

 

“Dad, he’s our dog,” Leo announces and David looks at Frank and Karen with a little shrug, as if to say what is a dad to do?

 

“Is he?” David kneels and Echo goes to him eagerly, looking for pets.

 

“Dogs are a big deal,” Frank reminds Zach and Leo. “Gotta walk them, play with them, take them outside, love them.”

 

“Promise we’re going to take really good care of him,” Leo vows solemnly, as Zach nods. “We’re gonna be the best dog owners ever.”

 

“Good, he deserves it,” Frank says, ruffling Echo’s ears. Echo looks up at him, but when Frank takes a step back, Echo makes no move to follow him.

 

“We’ll be back to visit,” Karen assures Leo and Zach, though she’s half reassuring Frank as well.

 

“Well kids, let’s go get his stuff, then go home and surprise mom,” David straightens up.

 

“C’mon Echo, we’re going to get you so many toys,” Zach tells the dog as they head towards the car.

 

“Thanks for saving him, and for trusting us,” David mutters to Frank, who tears his eyes off the dog and nods.

 

“Yeah, he’s a good family dog. The kids will love him.”

 

“We should get back to the rest,” Karen reminds Frank quietly, who finally nods and extends his hand to David.

 

“See you around.”

 

“Yeah, you too Frank,” David shakes his hand and Frank goes for the truck. David turns to Karen, who smiles slightly. “Just out of curiosity, how many more dogs does he have?”

 

“One down, eight to go,” Karen remarks and he chuckles.

 

“Good luck.”

 

“Thanks,” Karen sighs and gets back in the car with Frank.

 

The next to go is Oscar. That afternoon they prepare to relocate him to a senior dog sanctuary. Karen had managed to get ahold of them the night before, and they had an opening. It took fighting with Frank about the cost of paying for arthritis medication and taking care of an aging dog alongside puppies for Frank to cave and admit that the dog would be better off spending his remaining years with people who could care best for him. In the heat of the afternoon, they load him up and start the drive across the city, Frank pouting the entire way.

 

“And they’re no kill?” Frank questions, as Karen navigates him.

 

“They are no kill,” Karen promises. “Now go left.”

 

“And they have high reviews?”

 

“People are particular fans of the senior matching program they do. Older dogs with older couples are paired and they get to take care of each other,” Karen reminds, having discussed this with him last night.

 

“Just wanna make sure it’s a good place,” Frank mumbles and Karen smiles, patting his knee.

 

“I know Frank.”

 

Any of Frank’s worries seem to be alleviated when they get to the sanctuary. It’s light, open, airy. Dogs of all shapes and sizes wander around, and when Karen and Frank walk Oscar in, he’s received excitedly. The woman in charge walks up to them, smiling, extending her hand in welcome. Her nametag say Clara and when she shakes Karen’s hand, it’s with a wide smile.

 

“Hi, we are so excited to meet Oscar. We are so grateful that you rescued him!”

 

“Ah, that would be this guy right here,” Karen nods towards Frank, who takes his baseball cap off and offers Clara his hand.

 

“Ma’am.”

 

“Thank you,” Clara shakes it. “I see your Oscar is getting all settled in, adjusting just fine.”

 

“Ah, well,” Frank shrugs, watching as Oscar sniffs another dog’s butt. “I got a couple at home.”

 

“A couple,” Karen huffs under her breath incredulously and Frank gives her a glare.

 

“Well, feel free to wander, say your goodbyes, all that stuff. We encourage it,” Clara informs them and Karen nods, slipping her arm in with Frank’s. He reluctantly lets her pull him around the sanctuary.

 

“See, look, good beds, lots of toys,” Karen points out on their walk and he sighs, nodding. “And they can go outside when it’s nice out. This is good, right?”

 

“It’s fine,” he mutters and Karen rolls her eyes.

 

“You’re being childish.”

 

“Am not,” he growls.

 

“This is the best place for Oscar,” Karen states calmly. “He’ll be happy, well fed, and taken care of. Look, someone is already talking to him.”

 

“Oh shit,” Frank mutters, putting his hat back on and tucking it low. Karen glances at him, then back at the couple who are holding Oscar’s leash. They’re older, a woman with white hair coifed tightly to her head, and a man that’s bald, but wearing a cap that marks him as a Vietnam vet. He’s looking at Oscar with disinterest, while the woman coos and scratches Oscar’s chin.

 

“What did you do?” Karen demands lowly and Frank flinches.

 

“I think I might’ve…. Threatened him. Sorta. Once. He knows my face at least.”

 

“Frank!” Karen hisses between her teeth. “What the fuck?”

 

“It was right when I woke up,” Frank said, like it is an excuse. “And clearly I didn’t kill him!”

 

“Frank,” Karen hits him in the chest and he shuts his mouth. They both watch, try to be discreet, as the staff member chats with the older couple.

 

“Go say something to them,” Frank urges suddenly and Karen wrinkles her nose. “Tell them that he’s a good dog. He was a good guy.”

 

“Oh, you remember that from when you were threatening him?” Karen snaps and Frank gives her a little push. She sighs, then plasters a fake smile on and goes to their side.

 

“—And this is who brought him in,” the staffer informs the couple and she extends her hand warmly.

 

“Hi, Karen Page.”

 

“Oh, hello,” the older lady shakes it, beaming. “Lynda, this is my husband, Jerry.”

 

“Nice to meet you both, this is Oscar,” Karen gestures to the old pointer, who sits neatly. She parrots the story she’d convinced Frank to follow. “We, uh, rescued him, but we’ve got other dogs at home, thought this would be a good place for him.”

 

“Well, we thought it would be good to get out and have a dog a little more our speed,” Lynda explains, a twinkle in her eye and Jerry sighs.

 

“He’s a great dog,” Karen promises. “So sweet.”

 

“Well, it was very sweet of you and your boyfriend to do a good deed and bring him here,” Lynda says sympathetically and Karen smiles tightly before she turns to Jerry.

 

“Thank you sir, for your service,” she says seriously and his eyes lift, looking at hers with skepticism. “My grandfather served in Korea. My, uh, boyfriend served as well. Dogs make for great companions and Oscar here, well, he’s the best.”

 

“Oscar, huh?” Jerry leans forward and Oscar licks his cheek. “Hoo! Easy there my boy.”

 

“Have a good rest of your day,” Karen says, with a smile, and walks back to Frank. He keeps an eye on Oscar as he and the old couple head towards the little outdoor area, and the dog goes without a look back.

 

“Small world, huh?” Frank gives her a look that is almost a mischievous smile, and Karen bits her lip to keep herself from giving him a smile back.

 

“Let me know if we run into anyone else you’ve threatened then.”

 

Karen goes back to work on Monday with strict orders to Frank that if he finds any more dogs, he call her. She’s just brushing off Sierra’s errant hair from her clothes when Monica bursts into her office, looking as though all the devils of hell are on her heels. Karen looks up, alarmed, as Monica slams the door and throws herself down on the couch dramatically.

 

“You are never going to believe what just happened.”

 

“Do tell,” Karen remarked, blinking.

 

“Ellison told me that he’d publish the dogs in cars story, except that I can’t report them as connected. Says I don’t have enough proof beyond the note. Wants me to soften it up, make it more of a warning. Can you believe that?”

 

“Absolutely, yes,” Karen tells her, relaxing. “You need more proof. I know you want something hard hitting, but isn’t saving a couple dogs enough?”

 

“I guess, yeah,” Monica pouts for a second. “You know, it’s really made me think about getting a dog. I think it would be nice, having something to come home to. I even asked my girlfriend, talked about how we could have a little dog. She’s onboard.”

 

“Is she?” Karen raises an eyebrow. “Big step, getting a dog together.”

 

“I think we’re ready,” Monica muses. “A little dog would be perfect.”

 

“Would it be?” Karen sits, already reaching for her phone. “Well, I might have an idea then.”

 

It’s Zulu that goes to Monica and her girlfriend, and even though Frank makes Karen tell him three times just how loving Monica is, how stable her relationship is, how compassionate she is, eventually he agrees. Karen brings Zulu to Monica’s apartment for Tuesday’s wine and pizza, and grins to see the small dog race around the apartment like she owns the place.

 

Curtis ends up with Romeo. Even Karen is surprised, but apparently, Frank brought the dog to group and from that moment on, the two were inseparable. Frank lets Romeo go without questioning, but when another man from his group asks after Kilo and Juliet, Karen winds up taking another Saturday with Frank, using all her investigative skills to determine if the man and his girlfriend are a good fit for the two dogs.

 

“I’m not separating them,” Frank mutters, pacing in front of the couch. Karen sits in the leather chair, Sierra at her feet and Yankee practically on her shoulder. “They gotta go together.”

 

“I know Frank,” Karen scans the words on the screen.

 

“And the puppies, I get to decide where the dogs go after that—”

 

“Yes, Frank.”

 

“And he takes Kilo to the vet on 3rd Ave, not that trashy dick on 7th,”

 

“Sure, Frank.”

 

“And he gets them fixed, none of this breeding shit.”

 

“Okay, Frank.”

 

“And I told him I get one of the puppies.”

 

“You what?” Karen’s head snaps up. Frank is rubbing Juliet’s belly.

 

“Yeah, I get first pick.”

 

“Frank,” Karen rubs between her eyebrows. “We’re just getting down to a manageable number of dogs and you want to add a puppy into it?”

 

“What?” He kisses Kilo’s nose. “We’ll find Victor a good home and then that’ll only be two, plus a puppy.”

 

“Two?” Karen catches his wording. “What do you mean, two?”

 

“Two,” Frank points to Sierra, who’s at Karen’s feet, then to Yankee.

 

“No, no, no, these two are both going to good homes too,” Karen says hastily and Frank raises an eyebrow.

 

“You took Sierra home last Thursday.”

 

“Well you were on a stakeout and she doesn’t like sleeping alone,” Karen says defensively.

 

“She sleep with you in the bed?” Franks asks knowingly and Karen rolls her eyes but doesn't answer. “You’re a sucker Kar, you know you are. She’s yours, you’re hers, deal with it.”

 

“And this one?” Karen points to Yankee.

 

“Yanks?” Frank laughs. “She’s yours too. They love you. They’re not giving you up.”

 

“I can’t have two dogs,” Karen complains. “I have a busy life, what if I can’t take care of them?”

 

“That’s why you don’t have two dogs,” Frank mutters, laying on the floor by Sierra and making kissy noises at her. “We have two dogs. Three, when the puppy comes.”

 

“Oh,” Karen has nothing else to say to that so she falls quiet, wondering just when the hell her and Frank became a ‘we’ and parents to three dogs. It seems simple enough to him, as he plays with the dogs, but Karen wonders if he sees something she doesn’t. Feels differently than she feels. Does he know that this seems like the start of something permanent? Something real? Or does he just see her as a partner in this, someone else to pick up the poop and buy the treats?

 

She tries not to dwell on it, as the days cool down again. Kilo and Juliet go to their approved new owner, and Frank is a pain to deal with for the next couple days, but in the end, the promise of a puppy does as much for his attitude as it would for a six-year-old. Karen gives in to the fact that she has become a dog owner and buys beds for Sierra and Yankee, though they both sleep in hers anyways. It leaves just Victor, sweet Victor, and Frank puts up his strongest fight yet, until Karen shows him the couple that wants to adopt him.

 

Big house, big yard. Two little girls, sweet and excited. Their dads’, loving and proud owners of a Great Dane. The day Frank and Karen go to see Victor off to his new home, Karen nearly cries laughing at the sight of the dogs walking together down the street. Frank remains stoic, but Karen knows there’s a hint of a smile, buried deep, deep down.

 

Sierra and Yankee split their time between Frank and Karen’s apartments, just depending on who has more time to mind them. There’s playdates with Romeo and Echo, and even Zulu. If Monica has any idea where Karen has gotten the dogs, she doesn’t say a word. Frank reads the puff piece with a shit-eating grin on his face, and takes to quoting lines of it to Karen when he feels like reminding her that he was doing something good, not stupid.

 

When the puppies are born, Karen is unsurprised that Frank picks the runt. It seems fitting. A small little girl, sweet and a little shy, and absolutely devoted to Frank. They bring her home to Frank’s apartment when she’s old enough, and Frank cradles her with one hand, cooking pasta, telling her stories.

 

“And I found your mama and your daddy and then I brought them home and they loved that couch, that one right there, and you’re going to love it too.”

 

“You have to name her soon,” Karen calls, sitting in her chair with Yankee. “Or she’ll learn to respond to anything.”

 

“I got a name picked out,” Frank declares, coming to set the puppy in Karen’s lap so he can get bread from the oven.

 

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” Karen kisses the puppy, flinching at her breath.

 

“Thought about Charlie,” Frank states and Karen rolls her eyes.

 

“Not X-ray? Quebec? Hotel?”

 

“Nope, we’re Charlie, aren’t we?” Frank asks and Charlie gives a little yip, going after Yankee. Karen sets them both down with laughter.

 

“Charlie it is,” she admits, smiling up at Frank. “But if you rescue any more dogs, we’re gonna need a whole new alphabet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, this pairing is my life and my joy and I pinky swear I will be writing so much for them, but reviews honestly, honestly do help with inspiration and motivation. If you drop one on the way out, I'll love you forever. Like, just tell me your favorite dog. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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